The Walking Dead
by ThxrinOxkenshield
Summary: The 100/Walking Dead Crossover Clarke Griffin was arrested for knowing the fate of the world. Now she's roped into an entirely new journey that has her and a past sheriff working together for the better future. If only the walking dead were the only threats.
1. Chapter 1

**Rick Grimes' Point of View**

* * *

The echo of the bullet continued to ring in his ears, long after his horse uprooted him from his perch on his back. The journey to the CDC now had to stand at the back of his mind in favor of the fear and thrill of being surrounded by these walking demons dead set on sinking their filthy teeth into his skin. He had half a mind to pull his radio out and tell Morgan he's sorry, he lost, and how thankful he is to Morgan for at least giving him a chance. He even thought of mentioning Lori and Carl again, tell Morgan if he ever found them to tell them Rick fought to find them.

The horse cried out in pain, finally toppling over with the added weight of the walkers. Rick only saw a flash of red and knew what fate had become of his poor steed. It was almost like a foreshadowing for himself in a few moments when the walkers would topple him over. He grit his teeth, feeling them nearly crack as he shot again. The closest biter flew onto his back, no longer twitching.

"Shit!"

He danced on the spot. His person felt particularly empty. He knew something was missing. Patting at his chest with his free hand, he spun again and spotted the black bag, the tips of the guns peeking tauntingly from the open zipper. Too far. It was too far from him. If he even attempted to grasp the strap, one of the walkers would take ample opportunity to take him. If he went out, he wasn't going to go out so stupidly.

Another one appeared over his left shoulder, reaching for his outstretched hand that held the gun. Rick grunted and swung his leg around, his heel catching it in the chest and managing to break his balance, or lack thereof. Pointing at him between his yellow and silver irises, he pulled the trigger.

"GOD DAMN IT!"

He was out of bullets. The walker seemed to notice, since he now reached for his grime covered boots. The others just closed in, all of them as hungry as the one below his foot. Rick barely noticed that the horse was no longer crying out in pain anymore, but the walkers surrounding him continued their meal, undeterred.

Rick looked around, far more desperate than he had been before. He was going to die, there was no doubt about that. But he didn't want to die, being the key problem. Abandoned vehicles surrounded him, but most of them were either overturned or had doors missing, which would completely defeat the purpose of hiding out until the walkers moved on.

The military tank seemed like an oasis in the middle of a pale, hopeless desert, but Rick had managed to put too much distance between the two now. It was out of the question. Rick turned again, grunting as he kicked at another walker. There was no hope. This was it. Rick Grimes, woken in the midst of the apocalypse, killed a day later. Not much of a legacy.

He found his oasis in a bus. The chipping white paint with the black lettering of '_Atlanta Detention Center_' put him off a little bit, but he was sure it was abandoned by now considering it was sitting right in the middle of the city with every walker possible roaming the streets. And it's not like he had much of a choice to begin with. He was surrounded with no bullets in the chamber with the bag full of guns as far as the military tank was.

"Screw it," he hissed, aiming a punch into the jaw of a female biter that got too close. He grimaced as her weak jaw gave way and broke off, clattering onto the concrete. That didn't seem to stop her, however, still grabbing for him as she stepped on her own teeth. Rick grimaced, shoving her away and deciding to just make a run for it. That was his best bet. Yelling out, he brushed past the many walkers, his green eyes blazing as the bus got closer and closer.

He smacked his hand uselessly on the glass door, before he tried to pry it open. His nails dug into the black rubber, but to no avail, it wouldn't budge. The walkers moved faster somehow, their snarls acting as warning bells as he tried again and again until he knew for sure it would not open. He glanced once over his shoulder, cursing to see they were still gathering even quicker now. The horse had proven to be a hearty meal, but they were still hungry.

With its blood dripping from some of their lips, they took sight of Rick and moved forward. Rick knew there was no other option. He whipped around and took hold of the sturdy rearview mirror that was fixed right outside the unopen door. He used it as a makeshift ladder to pull him on top of the bus, keeping him out of reach from the walkers and giving him a better way to find another solution to his main problem. He could see the bag of guns once more, teasing him where they sat.

"Sons of bitches!" Rick shouted, stomping his boot and hearing the way the metal sounded. This was impossible. He had two choices now. He could wait it out and chance starving to death on the roof of a juvenile bus. Or he could jump and make a run for it that would just result in him dying faster. Neither had a happy ending.

Rick grumbled to himself, taking the radio from his back pocket and beginning to pace around the roof of the bus. He would just radio Morgan and tell him what was happening. Best case scenario, Morgan volunteers to go help him and the three, including Duane, go to the CDC together to find Rick's family. Worst case scenario, Morgan doesn't answer and Rick is left to his own devices.

Taking a leap of faith, he tuned the radio, still pacing the bus.

What he failed to notice was that the emergency exit was suddenly opened, allowing his body to unceremoniously fall into the bus he had been trying so hard to get into. The pain of the unexpected blow was a lot to take in, especially in his back since that is where he landed. The radio forgotten, Rick groaned.

"_Get the radio! Take his radio!_"

"_I've got his gun!_"

"_Clarke, this guy's a cop!_"

Rick could barely register he obviously wasn't alone. All he knew was that he was in immense pain. The soreness in his chest had returned, the blood seeping into the white t-shirt he wore underneath his uniform. Finally opening his eyes, he flinched upon seeing his own gun being pointed at him. He thought he was dreaming now. There was no way that there was someone in this bus. How long had Morgan said it had been? A few months? These people should've been dead already.

He gave himself a little shake. Bad move. He groaned as his back ached.

"Who are you?" a raspy, feminine voice demanded angrily.

"Wh-What?"

"I said...who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want? If you don't answer, I have no problem pulling the trigger."

Rick gave a wry grin, giving a strained chuckle.

"Don't waste your time, kid. The chamber's empty."

The stranger was silent, before they pried open the gun and gave a curse. Like Rick had said, it was out of bullets. But that didn't matter. He had heard more than one voice. He was outnumbered. He solemnly wondered what was more dangerous. Competent delinquents or flesh eating dead?

His vision was no longer blurry, giving him the pleasure in seeing who his captors were.

He saw the emergency door still pried open, where he had fallen through without notice like an idiot. There were several heads peering down at him, male and female alike. The one who had the gun was a girl, a young one at that. She was average height and stocky with pale skin and bright blonde hair. Her eyes were a piercing blue and her lips a light pink and perky. She wore a dark blue scrubs-like suit, as did the others in the bus. They even looked like criminals. They also smelled terribly.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" she asked again. "Are there more of you?"

"Nice to meet you, too, kid," Rick said, wincing as he finally sat up and rubbed at his back. He heard a few pops, but he was otherwise okay. He flinched upon seeing more blue suits. All of the delinquents were still within this bus. All who had committed some kind of crime or offense remained inside this bus, somehow alive. But it was impossible. There was no way they could've survived this long. Why didn't they move on? Rick was even more worried for his safety than before.

The chain-link wall that must've separated the boys from the girls had been broken through, giving no more barriers to each other. The entire vehicle stunk of filth and sweat. These kids haven't had a bath in who knows how long. Each of the windows had bars on them, and Rick could see that they had pried up one of the seats to shove in front of the door. That was why he couldn't get in when he had tried to pry it open.

The girl that had taken his gun and threatened him appeared in front of his face again. She looked determined.

"Look...I'm sorry for the fall...and for pointing your gun at you, but you have to understand you're the first person we've seen for weeks. Paranoia kind of becomes a natural reaction," she apologized, holding out his gun for him to take. "But you have to give me some answers. Who are you? Where did you come from? And are there more of you?"

Rick got to his feet, sidling as far from them as he could. He still didn't trust them. All of his instincts were telling him to take them all out. They were delinquents. Delinquents in a detention bus that should've died by now from starvation or dehydration. Not to mention they were ready to shoot him when he fell in, despite there being no bullets to do so.

"My name...is Rick Grimes. And I ain't from Atlanta. I'm from King County, few ways over." He pocketed his gun. "It's just me." He wasn't about to say anything of Morgan and his son. Not that these kids were any real threat to them; he wasn't going to take any chances. Rick would make sure Morgan avoided them at all costs, especially if they were going to wave the first gun they see all around making accusations and threats. Rick was not okay with that.

"Liar," someone hissed.

He turned. It was another girl. She was shorter than the first with long raven hair that looked matted from the lack of bathing. Her eyes were also blue, and she was even paler than the blonde. She was glaring daggers at Rick, just before she thrust his radio into the air and snarled, "Why would you need a radio if you were alone?"

Shit.

"I kept that from my old station just in case. If I ever find the right signal, I can notify someone that I'm alive. I'm just...I'm looking for my family. I heard that the CDC could be a big possibility, so I decided to head there. Got caught up with the walkers outside."

As if on cue, they heard the growls and bellows from the ones outside, hearing them bang their hands on the walls of the bus. All they knew was Rick fell inside, so their meal was unfinished. They would, hopefully, move on later. But Rick wasn't sure now. There was far too many of them. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.

The blonde one beckoned to the brunette.

"What? Clarke, you can't be serious! He's obviously lying."

"Octavia, he was trying to escape. If he had a group, don't you think they would've come for him by now? Get some perspective."

'Octavia' grit her teeth, her lips tightening into a thin line. Rick thought of just throwing caution to the wind and yanking the radio from her before crawling back out through the emergency exit, but it was obvious they were putting somewhat trust in him by handing him back his belongings. He waited patiently, taking the radio as the girl begrudgingly gave it to him. Crossing her arms, she stomped back to the bigger group and slammed herself down into one of the seats.

The blonde one ran a hand through her hair, sighing irritably.

"What's with the get up?" a masculine voice called, interrupting the awkward silence that had taken place. Rick glanced lazily towards him. This one was young, too, with a pale complexion and greenish blue eyes. He had shaggy brown hair and also wore a blue jumpsuit like the rest of them. He was looking at Rick with an expression of contempt. "Last I checked, authority figures went out with the world."

Rick looked from him to the blonde. "I...I just woke up a few days ago."

"_What?_"

"I just woke up a few days ago." Rick stated, patting at his chest and wincing. He had forgotten he had opened up the wound when he fell into the bus. "Put into comatose a while back after a gunshot wound. I woke up into all of this. I'm just trying to find my family. Honest."

"A gunshot wound?" another boy asked eagerly. This one also had shaggy brown hair, but his eyes were brown and he had a more angular face. He was lanky and thin, gripping an Asian boy's shoulder. "That is so cool..."

"Kiss ass," the first boy rolled his eyes.

"What about you?" Rick demanded back, turning to look at the blonde. "How the hell are you all still alive when I know damn well it's been too long for you to have survived?"

But Rick never got his answer, unlike them since he decided to pretty much give everything away except for Morgan and Duane. He flinched visibly as his radio gave off a very distinct static noise, causing him to nearly drop it and possibly break it on the hard floor. He stared at it in horror. Was it Morgan? Was he on his way to Atlanta? Did he know Rick was in trouble in a juvenile detention bus surrounded by delinquents?

"_Hey, dumbass._" Not Morgan. Not even Duane. "_Yeah, you. In the bus! Cozy in there?_"

Rick slowly turned his head towards the kids, his mouth falling open.

"He is a liar!" Octavia roared, jumping to her feet ferociously. Some of the other delinquents mirrored her actions. Rick backed away until he hit the opposite wall. How did this day go so terribly, terribly wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

**Clarke Griffin's Point of View**

* * *

It's true what they say: you never really know what you have until it's gone. Clarke could only suspect she was living proof of that. As someone who had been one of the most prestige in her school with top notch grades, excellent friends, and the perfect parents, it's hard for her to ever imagine a life without all of the above. That's not to say Clarke was arrogant, but thinking back on it now, maybe it was the perfect life for her. She never had much trouble before her arrest. She never did anything wrong, got into any scuffles with her classmates, or talked back to her superiors. It's a nightmare to think, with all that under her belt, she was still sent to remain behind bars because someone got overly suspicious that Clarke would spill every bout of information she had.

Her mother was one of the best doctors Atlanta ever had. Abby Griffin made sure to provide as much as she could for the family by working all hours of the day and into the night. She still managed to make time for her family, becoming very involved with Clarke's school life to ensure her daughter was going in the right direction. She understood that Clarke wanted to go in the same direction she did, which meant Clarke was a step further than most of her classmates. There never seemed to be any serious issues with her husband either, proving to Clarke's theory about her once flawless life.

When someone looked at Abby and Clarke, nobody ever suspected they were even remotely related. Clarke looked nothing like Abby, contradicting her brown hair and brown eyes with her blonde hair and blue eyes. But their personalities were uncanny. Abby was unapologetic, brave, caring, and giving all in one. Clarke mirrored that. That's why Abby made the perfect doctor. It's no surprise to anyone that her patients love her so much because Abby makes it personal with them. She wants them to feel as safe as her daughter does when she's in her presence. Clarke admires that ability.

However, if one looked at Clarke's father and herself, they could see the perfect resemblance. Jake Griffin was the perfect husband, father, and friend. He was tall and thick, giving off the impression he is not to be messed with. Surprisingly, he's the sweet one in the relationship. He had wiry blonde hair and the bluest of eyes that sparkled when he received a new idea for something he, personally, felt was incredible. He made Clarke see the beauty in everything she saw. He made her curious of the unknown, made her want to figure out every mystery the world had to offer.

He treated Abby like she put the stars in the sky, welcoming her home from a hard day with a big kiss on the lips and a table full of delicious food to stuff herself with. Clarke's heart grew sore every time she thought of him. Because that was nothing more than a memory now. She hasn't seen her father in over a year, and every time she brings her up to her mother on visiting hours, her mother had no answer to how Jake was doing.

And all the blame for that pain, for the not knowing, for the horror that her father would probably never see his family again is thanks to Clarke Griffin's best friend Wells Jaha, who also happened to be on that bus with her when they were abandoned.

Jake Griffin was one of many scientists at the CDC. Like Abby, he loved his work, and he made sure to put everything he had into it to ensure the food on the Griffin's table and the wellbeing of his home. He had several friends within those many walls, all of which would never want to hurt Jake personally. A thought like that had never even crossed their minds. Jake Griffin had never done a thing to hurt anyone. He just did his work, went home, came back, repeat. If so, how did he end up in the West Georgia Correctional Facility with no promise of returning before Clarke graduated university? Who would do something so terribly?

The answer came in the name of Thelonious Jaha, the father to Clarke's ex-best friend. Thelonious also happened to be Jake's closest companion, which made it all the more worse. Trust was one of the biggest things in the Griffin family. Something that was destroyed by the Jaha father and son duo. And the sad part was Jake never blamed Thelonious for what happened. His heart was so good that he blamed himself. Clarke knew Thelonious didn't deserve such a gift. She blamed him and Wells entirely.

It was supposed to be a regular Tuesday. He had kissed Abby and Clarke goodbye that morning and drove with the radio blasting hits from the 80's. He had arrived, still not expecting any surprises. Then he went inside and came to discover something had gone wrong. Something happened and he was probably the only person in the world at that time that knew. Such a terrible and wonderful thing knowledge is. The worst thing that can happen, whether you have all of it or lack thereof, is be the only person. It isn't loneliness as to why, but it is betrayal. Knowledge and none at all in one person causes betrayal.

Jake Griffin was the first man to discover that there was such a disease that could kill people and reawaken them in a different state where they craved flesh and spread the disease with their terrible bite. He knew that there were some nerves within the brain that helped with the process and needed to be destroyed in order to stop this walking dead that wanted to kill you. He knew. Then Edwin Jenner knew. Then Thelonious Jaha knew, and everything changed.

There were a handful of victims at the time, Jenner's wife being one of them. She had bravely volunteered to help them with inspecting this disease and how to counter it before it got out of hand. They spent hours with this suffering woman, whose temperature had reached an all time high, feeling like a furnace every time they got too close. Jake, Jenner, and Thelonious had worked tirelessly all night long. Jake had called Abby and Clarke that it would be a while before he returned home. And they kept going. And they kept going.

Until Jenner's wife turned.

That was when Jake realized that they had no cure to work with this. He didn't know how long it would take to procure one and the public needed to know before any of that happened. The world needed to know what to watch out for, so they could take precautions, much like they would do with any other disease. Unfortunately, Jaha didn't see it that way. He assumed if they went public, there'd be riots. There'd be panic and chaos, similar to when the AIDs epidemic arose.

Jenner, who had been mourning over the loss of his wife, chose not to pick sides. Jaha said they needed to keep it within the CDC. Nobody could know, or consequences would be set. Clarke knew now he had said that, directing the comment to Jake. Her father went home with a heavy conscience, not willing to talk about it for the next week until Abby finally demanded what was wrong with him. He wasn't himself. This wasn't Jake. He was anxious, on edge, and he seemed so hurt.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Clarke had been listening the night Jake came clean. There was a disease rapidly spreading. It was deadly, and it was sure to already be causing an uproar. Jake wanted to go public to let the world know exactly what was going on and the symptoms to look out for, but Thelonious was against it. Clarke's mother had agreed that there would be trouble if he told everyone. Paranoia would spread and people could attack others under the assumption that they're infected. It'd be anarchy.

Jake told her that wasn't right. Making up his mind, he told her he would go into work tomorrow and send out a public notice. Everyone deserved to know the truth. Thelonious would just have to deal with it. Frightened, Clarke rushed to call Wells and tell him what was going on. She just needed someone to talk to. Wells understood, trying to calm her down on the other line to the best of his ability. At the end of their call, Clarke swore him to secrecy. He couldn't tell his dad. Thelonious could not know. Wells promised.

That night at dinner, Clarke quietly confronted her father. He and Abby were shocked. Ignoring her mother's scathing looks, Clarke told her father that she agreed with him. The people deserved to know. This wasn't something simple, if the disease truly were that deadly. With that, her father had been even more sure that he was going to do what he needed to do. Thelonious would see in the end that it was for the best in everyone's interest.

The next morning, the police were waiting for Jake upon his arrival. No words were exchanged. He was simply taken away and put in a squad car. That was the same day Clarke had been taken from her homeroom class and taken into custody. Thelonious somehow knew that she knew, too.

Jake Griffin was arrested for the charge of unauthorized disclosure of classified information. Clarke was charged for the same, but since she was a minor at the time, she was sent into Atlanta's detention center for juveniles. Clarke never saw her father again. According to Abby, he was losing every appeal he had that would get the charges taken off. Apparently he was being labeled a psychopath that wanted to disrupt the peace. Clarke was engulfed with rage.

That was how she ended up on that bus with those kids, including Wells. They were being transported when an uproar of rioters and infected people took the main road, stopping them from going any farther. Their bus driver, as well as the security guards, stepped off to direct the commotion elsewhere so they could keep going, but it was too late. Jake Griffin had been right. It would take over the public if they weren't aware. That cruel irony has stuck with Clarke throughout this entire journey.

The bus remained in place, unmoving, not willing to take the children to safety because the keys were stuck in that fat driver's pocket. The glimmer of the keys sometimes taunted them when they saw him wandering around the, now, abandoned streets of Atlanta. He had been bit seven minutes after he left the bus. Clarke was unwilling to let anyone take a chance to get the keys off him. They'd stayed on that bus since then.

Clarke had taken the necessary position as leader, using the emergency door as the sole exit for her runners to go and gather food. Sometimes they didn't come back. Clarke refused to have everyone leave and just make the simple run for it. She didn't want to be responsible for the deaths of these kids who had been left behind. Help would have to come sooner or later. Clarke was so sure some military troupe would discover them and pull them to safety.

After all these weeks that have gone by, she knew she was just kidding herself.

* * *

Rick Grimes falling into the bus was either a blessing in disguise or an immediate journey to death, which is something the delinquents have been avoiding the past several weeks. They had been waiting for someone - _anyone _\- to arrive and come to their aid. But if Rick was telling them the truth, he had absolutely no idea how to help them. They'd be stuck in that bus until they either overruled Clarke and left, or until they die. Nobody was coming to save them. That much was clear.

As soon as Octavia jumped to her feet, Clarke knew she had to step in.

"Wait! Wait! Octavia, calm down!" Clarke snapped, holding up a hand. Her mind was racing, running through the short conversation she shared with the disillusioned cop. He said he was going to the CDC. He mentioned they could help him, meaning someone had to be there. Clarke solemnly wondered if they finally heeded her father's warning and built some sort of sanctuary there for the public. She could take the delinquents there. This meant they didn't have to remain in this bus waiting for nobody. Clarke had to convince Rick to take them with him.

"Clarke, he has a group! Why would he feel the need to lie to us?" Octavia demanded. "There's a reason he tried to hide it."

"I have no idea who this is!" Rick snarled, glaring at her. He lifted the radio up. "But whoever this is...they can help me. They obviously saw me fall in here. If they just wanted to leave me, they wouldn't have even attempted to contact me, don't you think?"

"Princess, I think you're thinking what I'm thinking."

Clarke turned, still on edge. Finn Collins towered over her with his matted raven hair and blue jumpsuit ruffled. Since the bus driver abandoned them, he had attempted to grow closer with Clarke. He sympathized with her. He understood she was trying to save everyone by keeping them within the bus, but Clarke didn't have time for companionship or whatever else he was searching for. Clarke wanted everyone safe. And, if what her mind is telling her, they are no longer safe waiting within this bus for nobody to come rescue them.

But maybe telling Finn would help her soothe her thoughts on how to go about this.

"If the CDC is running for people to come and stay, I think it's the perfect chance for us. We can all live instead of survive. We don't have to be so on edge," she spoke quietly as she watched Rick hesitate to speak back with this stranger. "How am I going to convince him to let several delinquents tag along with him? He's a cop. I don't think he'll go for it."

"Past cop," Finn corrected. "Like Murphy said, authority jumped out the window as soon as everything fell."

Clarke shook her head. "Even still. I don't want to burden him, but we need help. There's nobody coming for us like I thought. This is all my fault. We could've left weeks ago." She ran a hand down her face before whipping around to Rick and jabbing a hand toward the radio in his hand. "Talk to him. If you don't, he might just think you're gone and leave. He's our best chance."

Rick stared. "Our?"

"C'mon, man, you're not seriously going to leave some kids in a bus to fend for themselves while you get rescued," Finn scoffed.

"You seemed to be doing just fine for the past few weeks."

"Stop, both of you," Wells' voice joined the conversation uninvited. Clarke glared at him accusingly. Taking the hint, he didn't even attempt to approach the trio. Instead, he held his hands up and spoke to Rick a lot calmer than Finn, Clarke, or Octavia had. "We've been trapped here for weeks, man. The only reason we haven't left is because we just assumed that someone would come for us. We let a few people go to get us supplies. Some don't come back. Either by choice or by...you know. We will not be able to last much longer."

Rick gave him a look of utter reluctance, but he probably knew there was not much time to consider his options. This stranger who contacted him could leave at any second and rob them of any chance at getting them out alive, himself and the kids included. Clarke hoped his conscience was holy enough he wouldn't just abandon them.

"Tick tock, Mall Cop," John sneered.

"Murphy, hush!" Clarke hissed.

"I...I don't even know any of you." Rick stated weakly.

"I'm Jasper Jordan," Jasper spoke up, before gesturing to Monty. "Monty Green. John Murphy. Wells Jaha. Nathan Miller. Harper McIntyre. Octavia Blake. Finn Collins. And...and..."

"And Clarke Griffin," Clarke finished. "Nine delinquents. The rest have either left or...have passed. You know our names. And you know we could've killed you when we had the chance, gun or not. Please, Rick...we're running out of time!" Clarke was growing more desperate by the minute. Finally, Rick gave a loud groan before he finally brought up the radio to his lips to speak.

"Hey...you still there? Sorry it's taking me so long to respond...didn't expect to hear someone on the other line."

There was a long pause. For a moment, Clarke worried that the stranger really had left, and they were alone again. Then the static rearose and she felt utter relief wash over her. Finn gave a smile and squeezed her shoulder. Octavia, who had been threatened by Rick since the beginning, was now throwing her arms ecstatically over Jasper and Monty's shoulders. Miller and Harper hugged each other. John just gave a wry grin. Wells looked at Clarke, his mouth twitching. He finally gave a smile. Clarke just looked away. She couldn't, even now. She didn't think she'd ever be able to forgive him.

"_I didn't think you'd have much to dwell on, dumbass, but I guess I'll have to let it pass if I want my need for a good deed to stay intact._"

"Good deed...so you do want to help us?"

"_Us?_"

Rick bit his lip and looked up at Clarke. She nodded to him feverishly, her blue eyes begging.

"You're not gonna believe this, bud," Rick began, squatting down, his free hand laying on his hip where his gun was. Clarke assumed that was just a habit of his, seeing as the thing was rid of any bullets. "But...I just fell in a bus with nine kids inside. All of them...were the same delinquents that had been in the bus when everything went down."

"_Well...that just makes this good deed a little more hard, doesn't it?_"

"Can you help us or not?" Rick demanded. "You're probably our only hope. Speaking a little too confidently, which tells me you've got a better handling with all this mess compared to me."

"_Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm experienced enough to save some sheriff and nine delinquents._"

Clarke walked forward and held a hand out. Rick looked up at her, surprised. But she was determined. She gave him a little nod and shook her hand a little more insistently. Reluctantly, he handed her the radio and got to his feet. Clarke made sure to stay close, letting Rick know she somewhat trusted him. The other eight watched anxiously.

"This is Clarke Griffin, one of those delinquents," she began, speaking with an aggressive tone to show she meant business. "We have been on this bus for weeks waiting for help. I had assumed someone...military...or criminal justice-wise would find us and come to the rescue. I think we both know I was wrong. You are our best hope right now. I know you have no obligation, but you obviously wanted to help that sheriff since you even bothered to contact him. Call me selfish, but I want to survive today. Now...can you tell us how we can get out of the streets without getting bit? I understand he was shooting rounds and drawing them all in."

"_I like the attitude, bossy. Fine. Listen and listen close, because you have one window to work with, and if you pass it up, I can't help you anymore. Are you listening?_" Glenn demanded.

"Yes," Clarke said, looking up at Rick and nodding curtly.

"_Honestly? I would've originally said make a run for it, but seeing as there's ten of you..._"

"No. Making a run for it is out of the question," Clarke stated.

"_I should probably already know the answer since you've been in that bus for the past couple of weeks, but...do any of you know how to hotwire a vehicle?_"

"No," Clarke stated at the same time Rick said, "Yes."

She looked up at him in surprise. "You do?"

He nodded, smiling a little teasingly. "As a cop, you kind of pick up on the stuff your typical criminals do. Couldn't figure out how they kept stealing squad cars until I figured it out for myself." He looked to the front of the bus. "I've never hotwired a bus before, though. I don't know how different it is."

Clarke looked at him for a long time. Throwing caution to the wind, she spoke into the radio once more, "Dumbass knows how to hotwire a bus. Then what do we do?" Rick rolled his eyes, but he still motioned for her to bring the radio up higher so he could hear what the stranger had to say.

"_Alright, then. Perfect, actually. You got a few of the geeks on either side, but they shouldn't be a problem. They're too decayed to hang on for the ride. There's an alley way directly in front of you. About fifty yards; I'm measuring off the top of my head. Drive as quickly as you can, because the geeks will be drawn to the noise and will crowd around. That gives us about...maybe a thirty second window of escape if you do it perfectly. Just...try not to run over me in the process._"

"Alright, we got it...what's your name?" Clarke asked.

"_Don't worry about it. Just hurry up. We don't have much time!_" the stranger ordered. The radio went silent, which gave them their cue. Instantly, all ten of them flew to the front of the bus. Rick gave a cry of disgust, his arm flying up to his nose as he looked at Clarke scathingly.

"There isn't a restroom on this bus. Get us going and we won't have to deal with it. How do we do this?" She keeled down beside the wheel where she assumed the wires were. She's seen this done on movies countless of times, but she's never even attempted it in real life. Rick gently pushed her out of the way, staring at the board with a look of irritation.

"I need something to pry this open."

"Here!" Jasper called, pushing himself forward and thrusting a hand into Rick's face. Upon closer inspection, Clarke saw it was pried up metal from the walls of the bus. Feeling her staring, Jasper smiled nervously. "I-I thought it made a pretty good weapon just in...just in case."

Rick, thanking him, took it and easily pried open the board, pulling out a hoard of red, green, yellow, and blue wires. Clarke gazed up, trying to peer through the dusty windshield to find the alley way. She let out a small scream when she noticed one of the walkers crawling up on the front, banging its fists on the window.

"I guess we're a little more visible up here," she commented.

"How are we sure this is going to work?" Murphy asked demandingly.

"It has to work," Wells insisted.

Rick began pulling at certain wires and connecting a few others. Time seemed to be going by so much slower now that they had an opportunity of escape. Clarke could practically hear her heart pounding against her ribcage. She was worried this wouldn't work. All of this sudden energy, Rick falling in, and this stranger contacting them was nothing more than a ray of hope that would be quickly snatched away as punishment for not letting the delinquents escape faster. All those lives taken before from the delinquents who went on runs for food or just tried to make a run for it...all of those deaths were on her, and she knew that.

She felt something take her hand. She worried for a moment that it was Wells, but it turned out to be Finn instead.

"This will work," he declared quietly.

"I hope so."

She didn't let go of his hand.

Suddenly, starting low at first before it sounded throughout the entire bus, the engine gave a loud roar. The bus was running again. Rick had done it.

"Let's go," Rick shouted, jumping into the driver's seat and switching the gears. He squinted through the muck on the windshield as well as the walker who was still attached. "I don't see the alley way."

"Get the biter off!" Miller demanded.

Rick grabbed the wheel. "Everyone hold on to something."

Immediately, everyone ran to the nearest seat. Clarke remained up front.

"Clarke, you need to-"

"No. No, I need to see this for myself." she stated, grabbing onto the pole attached to the driver's seat. "Go, go, go!"

Rick jammed his foot onto the gas, sending the bus forward at a higher speed than the original driver even attempted. Clarke kept a tight hold onto the pole. The walker was still on the front of the bus, growling as it held on.

"EVERYONE, HANG ON!" Rick shouted, moving his foot and slamming on the brakes. Clarke would've flown into the window had Rick not thrust his arm out and caught her around the middle. She heard some of the other delinquents let out cries of pain from their own tossing about.

"Thank you," Clarke grunted, standing straight again.

"Don't thank me yet," Rick retorted, pressing on the gas again. They all heard a sickening crunch as they ran over the walker that had attempted to stay on. They finally saw the alley way getting closer and closer. They would've blown through it completely had it not been for a male holding his arms high and shouting for his life.

Rick slammed on the brakes again, catching Clarke before she fell, then pointed towards the emergency door.

"OUT! EVERYONE OUT! THEY'RE COMING IN!" Clarke made sure everyone got to it before her. Finn and Miller held down hands for her to grab onto and climb out. Rick followed. Clarke glanced back towards the road in awe. More and more of the biters were piling in, each walking toward the bus with the same hungry look in their eyes.

"Are you going to ruin my whole plan by dying here?"

Everyone turned. The boy Rick had nearly run over was climbing onto the bus. He was pointing at a ladder attached to one of the buildings frantically.

"LET'S GO!" He led the way, using the bus to his advantage as he leapt onto the bars and began going up. He was definitely the stranger from the radio. She could hear it in his voice. He was a few years older than she was with black hair and a lithe body. He was Korean, from what she could tell, wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. He was also adorned with a large pack. She could see a radio hanging off the side of it, similar to the one Rick held.

Speaking of Rick, he reacted first, jumping onto the ladder and climbing. Then the delinquents each followed, grabbing on and hoisting themselves upwards. Clarke chanced a final glance to the road.

So many weeks they spent there. So many lives lost thanks to her. Now they had finally escaped, thanks to a man that had fallen through a door. She no longer had to kid herself that someone was going to save her. Now she could take on the world as she should, on the outside where the biters now took over. She still felt very protective over these delinquents she had spent so much time with. She felt responsible for them. She was grateful to Rick and the stranger, but she would put the eight others before them any day. They were her people.

"Clarke! Hurry up!" Finn called.

Clarke turned to see everyone was already nearly to the top. Seeing walkers begin to climb up to grasp her, she ran and jumped. Her hands dug painfully into the metal bars, keeping her on as she quickly began to climb.

How quickly this day turned. That morning she never thought she'd see the outside for herself unless she was trying to get sustenance for her people. Now it was accessible. She felt so much more free.

She thought solemnly of her parents.

If only she could share this freedom with them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rick Grimes' Point of View**

* * *

He couldn't believe it actually worked. That entire plan should've killed him as well as all the delinquents. He was supposed to die in that bus, but he didn't. Instead he was climbing up this ladder with no promise of coming back down with a stranger wearing a baseball cap and nine kids. Morgan would never believe the day he's had; Rick hardly believed this was happening himself. It was all so quick. That's not to say he trusted these delinquents at all. They were put away for a reason. He just couldn't have it on his conscience that he left nine teenagers to die in a bus. That just wasn't him.

The walkers continued to gather at the bottom, some of them on top of the bus because it was as close as they could get to the one thing they wanted. Thankfully, this ladder was pretty sturdy, so unless one of them accidentally let go, they wouldn't have to go through such a horror ever again. But Rick could see that more and more of the creatures were gathering within the streets. As Morgan had taught him the first night out of the abandoned hospital, noise attracts them. And he was sure crashing a bus into an alley way made enough noise for walkers two towns over to try and come across.

"How much farther?" he heard someone below him call anxiously. It sounded like Octavia.

"Tell you what, when you see no more bars to climb, you'll know!" Glenn retorted loudly, not seizing his movements as he continued to travel upwards. Out of curiosity, Rick pulled his body back slightly to see if he could find the roof. To his surprise, they weren't even close. However, this just meant they were even further and further from the walkers. He huffed and continued up. He thought sorely of the bag of guns he dropped. He would have to fix a trip once he got to the CDC to go and retrieve them. They were too valuable to just leave behind.

Soon enough, they finally got to the top. His arms had never felt more sore. He keeled over slightly, gripping the ridges around the roof in order to peer down into the alley way. Somehow, it had gotten even more crowded. The bus was barely visible underneath all the ones climbing on top of it. Their grey, decayed skin reflected off the metal, making them look more sinister.

"You've got moves there, Clint Eastwood," the stranger grunted, appearing beside him. "You the new sheriff come riding in to clean up the town? Figured you'd rally up some hoodlums along the way?" He looked over his shoulder at the delinquents, all who were as exhausted as they were. Rick suppressed a smile.

"I couldn't leave them in there. They're kids. From what they told me, they'd been in there for weeks waiting for help. All they got was me."

"Don't downplay yourself so much. You still got all of them out of there," the stranger sighed, finally standing straight. He, too, looked down into the alley to stare at the gathering walkers. "Really shouldn't have popped all those rounds when you did, but I guess ramming the bus didn't really help much either."

"Who are you?" Rick asked.

"Glenn. Glenn Rhee."

Rick nodded, holding out a hand. "Rick Grimes."

The two finally turned away from the circus. The nine teenagers seemed to be getting their breaths back as well.

The roof was completely empty. Nothing but concrete and bricks. There was a small door probably leading into said building, but Rick didn't want to chance going inside and coming across an entire hoard of occupants that weren't too keen on visitors unless the visitors minded being eaten alive. However, Rick could see plywood on either ends of the roof leading to the other buildings. He wondered if Glenn was the one to supply it so he could travel easier, but that didn't seem likely. Glenn didn't seem like he stayed within the town, despite his knowledge. It'd be stupid of him to stay where the dead roamed freely.

"Hey," Clarke called, approaching the two first. She thrusted a hand toward Glenn. "I'm the one you called bossy. I'm Clarke. Thank you...for helping us out."

"Technically I just gave the directions, but no problem," Glenn smiled, shaking her hand. "I'm Glenn. You guys really like to be proper, huh? Hope that'll show when you meet the others. They won't be keen that I've done this. If anything, they'll see it as a threat, especially with you guys. You look like criminals wearing that get up."

"Others? You have a group?" Clarke asked as the others surrounded her.

"Yeah, um...we were on a run and I was...I found you guys." Glenn shrugged, before pointing east where one of the plywood planks sat. "Let's go. The more we stay here, the more things get hazy. And I'm already pretty dizzy because you guys reek. No offense."

"Staying in a bus for weeks with no bath seems to do that," John rolled his eyes.

With that, the entire group followed Glenn. Rick was still a bit shaky. Although, driving that bus to safety did give him a bit of an adrenaline rush. When there's no hope at all and you suddenly get a burst of it, it's hard to feel much different. He patted his sides slightly, relieved that he still had his gun and his radio, the two things he needed the most. Really, though, he needed to come across ammo soon. He felt less safe without it.

"Are you the one that barricaded the alley? Or your group?" Wells Jaha spoke up, walking a little faster so Glenn could hear him. Rick thought he saw Clarke sidle away so she didn't have to be near him.

"Somebody did. I guess when the city got overrun. You guys never saw the outside for weeks? That sounds impossible," Glenn snorted.

"Some of us went on runs to get food, while the rest of us stayed on the bus. I wasn't one of those people that got to go."

They approached an upcoming railing that opened up into a fire escape on the next building. Rick leaped over it before going to help Clarke and Harper next. Octavia simply stepped on the pole and hopped down, swinging her filthy brunette hair over her shoulder. Rick really needed to get these kids to a bath. They smelled horribly.

"Don't go down. Go up," Glenn ordered, gripping the roof with both of his hands and pulling himself over.

"Rick," Clarke hissed, catching him before he could follow. "Look...if he has a group...we can't promise they'll be very welcoming. What if they don't let us in because of the jumpsuits?"

Rick huffed. The other delinquents were following Glenn, completely oblivious to the conversation Clarke and he were suddenly having. "We won't be stayin' with them, period. Or, at least, I won't. I'll be headin' to the CDC to find my family. If anything...that's where you and me go our separate ways."

"And if he and his people _are _from the CDC?"

"That's not my problem. I saved your lives. I owe you no more than that." Rick declared, before he pulled himself up. He went to help her, but he assumed his response had pissed her off a little bit since she jerked away from him and pulled herself up without a problem. This roof had another doorway, but Glenn had no problem pulling open the door and stepping inside. Clarke stopped a few feet ahead of Rick, whipping around angrily.

"Just so you know...if the tables were turned, I would've helped you."

"Would you? Would you honestly trust someone you don't know enough to take them where your flesh and blood is? Half o' you could've been locked up for something serious-"

"It was a detention bus! None of us did anything serious enough to really put us behind bars! We could've killed you in that bus, Rick, but we didn't. That should show enough that we can at least be trusted to be taken to safety." Clarke said, shaking her head before she turned and trotted over to the door in order to follow the others. Rick sighed, running a hand down his face. This girl was a real piece of work.

They traveled down a long staircase. There were several doors on each landing, but Rick knew that none of them were the door that led to Glenn and the other delinquents. There were black painted numbers beside each door, getting smaller and smaller the longer they descended. Rick could hear his footsteps echoing off the walls. He was worried they would draw in unwanted company, but if Glenn figured this was the safest way, he was going to put his trust in him. The entire way was filthy with abandoned gum stuck to the walls along with foreign stains Rick didn't even want to ask what they came from. Thankfully, there were no bodies to speak of, alive or not. He didn't want to have to fight his way to freedom any longer. Finally, they came across a door that was left wide open.

Walking in, he noticed it was completely empty, but the wide open window told him that's where they disappeared off into. He led Clarke toward it, pulling his head out and finding another fire escape. But another plank of plywood told him he was going across instead of up or down. The next window was also yanked open, teal curtains on either side, blowing in the breeze.

When he got inside the room, he saw Glenn and the others were waiting for the two. Rick was surprised to see they were in what looked to be some kind of department store. There were racks of clothes, jeans, jackets, and accessories fit for a Sunday evening after a church service. They were standing by a broken elevator. It was slightly slanted with a sloped roof; they could see the elevator shaft. Rick thought he could see a long rope hanging from the top, pooled over the roof. He guessed they were supposed to climb up.

The walls had chipped purple paint. Everything seemed untouched by looters, which meant it was left in a hurry. Rick could see two pairs of glass doors leading outside. They were blocked in with a few cleverly placed plywood planks, much like the ones on the roofs. However, Rick knew with enough force they could be broken in to. The windows were cluttered with curtains and shoes. The counter was missing a register, but a few stray dollars left behind told Rick it was taken when it was closed down.

"We did all that climbing just to do more climbing?" Rick called.

Clarke had her arms crossed, marching toward them. Wells approached her, probably with the intention to ask what was wrong, but that seemed to make her even more mad. Letting out a huffy sigh, she walked up to Glenn.

"Do we have time?"

"Time for what?"

"Time to look just a little bit more presentable so we aren't left for the dogs on presumptions."

Glenn looked at the door he was in front of. Then he gave a shrug.

"Alright, Octavia and Harper, come with me. Finn, make sure you guys find something nonchalant. Don't go overboard. We just can't be seen in the jumpsuits." Clarke ordered, grabbing a clump of shirts from the rack and disappearing with the girls behind a faded pink divider.

"She is kind of bossy," Glenn laughed.

"I pissed her off."

"I figured."

"What'd you say?" Finn asked, joining the conversation. He was clutching a pair of jeans to his chest, the rest of the boys changing around him.

Rick huffed, but he answered anyway, "I told her...you guys aren't my problem anymore. I saved you. I owe you nothing more. And I stand by that."

"Wait, so you're leaving us?" Jasper asked, poking his head up.

"I don't blame you, Mall Cop," John grunted, hoisting up a pair of jeans that were at least two sizes too big, but he kept it tight around his small waist with a leather belt. "Hell, I'd leave us, too. Gotta be honest with you, though. It's kind of a dick move to do it so early." He grabbed a nearby navy blue shirt. Pulling it over his head, he grabbed his jumpsuit and threw it across the room.

"Bossy has a point, though," Glenn mumbled, diverting Rick's attention to him. "If they know these kids are from a detention bus, there's no way they'll let them stay. Which...means we're gonna have to keep it quiet. They can't know, and these guys can't go on about it or they will get kicked out. You got the bonus points for looking like a damn sheriff."

"What can I say? I was taking nine teenagers on a field trip?"

"No...just...let's keep the part of their background to ourselves."

"You're willing to lie to your own group?"

"Believe it or not, I don't feel good about leaving nine kids to die either."

Rick nodded, before he turned back to the boys. All of them were now adorned in different colored polo shirts with pants that were either too big or too small. They couldn't ask to be picky, however, since they were in a hurry. They looked similar to a church choir with their collars around their dirty necks. Rick snorted upon seeing Jasper, the tallest of the lot, with jeans that stood about three inches from his sneakers.

"Do we look like we came from behind bars now?" Miller asked, pulling at his salmon colored shirt.

"No, you all look...cute," Glenn chuckled. Miller and John gave him a glare.

"Are the girls done already?" Monty asked, talking for the first time in front of Rick.

"Let's go!" Clarke called, her blonde head appearing from behind the pink divider. Clarke was wearing a blue colored blouse with see-through sleeves running down her arms. She had also taken a pair of jean shorts that fell just above her bruised knees. Octavia snagged a giant hoodie with faded jeans that were far too big for her narrow frame, but she managed to hold it up with a belt like John had. And Harper just wore a simple sun dress that had been hanging on a mannequin nearby. None of the delinquents look like they were, in fact, delinquents. However, they did seem to be wearing clothes that were far too clean and colorful. They stood out far too much, but maybe that was a good thing. They didn't have time to find anything else to wear.

"Alright, guys, let's go," Glenn hissed, grabbing the top of the elevator and pulling himself up. He grabbed at the rope and pulled on it to make sure it could still hold them. "We have to do this one at a time. I'll go first. Dumbass, you're after me. It's kind of like rock climbing, but you're propelling yourself up instead of down. Ready?" He took off the radio from his bag and pulled it to his lips, looking up. "Guys, I'm on my way up. And...I've got some company. Better make some room." Not waiting for a reply, he began to climb up.

Rick waited patiently for him to disappear on the correct landing so he could go next. He noticed Clarke had appeared by his side again.

"Look...I'm sorry," he said, taking her by surprise. "I didn't mean for it to come out the way I did. You're right. You guys could've killed me as soon as I fell in...or you could've shut it and left me for dead on top of the bus. Look...I'll help you as much as I can, but if something happens...I will put myself first to see my family again. I hope you understand."

Clarke looked slightly affronted, but she nodded. "Of course."

"Come up, dumbass!"

Rick grabbed ahold of the rope once he climbed onto the elevator shaft. Taking a deep breath, he positioned himself and began to climb. He kept his feet propped against the wall of the elevator shaft. He grunted as he climbed, sweat slipping from his forehead and down his face. He didn't even try to look down, fearful he would panic and accidentally let go. The difference between this and rock climbing was there was an emergency line for the ladder.

He breathed as evenly as he could, barely noticing there was a massive lack of oxygen.

He found the correct landing in an instant, but as he pulled himself in, he felt someone grab him aggressively by the shoulder and throw him into something very hard. The breath was ripped from his lungs as he quickly straightened up, worried he was getting ambushed, but his captor simply shoved him back again, thrusting yet another gun into his face.

"Cut the ropes, Jacqui!" the blonde woman demanded, keeping her pistol aimed straight for Rick's head.

This room was like a small storage space. There was one window, but it didn't have the comforting teal curtains that the department store had. He was pinned against a line of filing cabinets, surrounded by people he didn't recognize. Glenn was to his left, looking shocked and worried. He didn't expect this.

"Andrea, don't!" he cried, holding his hands up. "Jacqui, don't cut the rope! There's kids down there!"

"Don't matter, Glenn!" 'Andrea' hissed, still glaring at Rick like he killed her mother. "Why the hell would you bring them here?"

"They needed help!"

Another man appeared over the blonde woman's shoulder. He was Hispanic with black hair drenched in sweat. He was slightly bigger than most with a beige button-up over khaki shorts. He held a hand up, not looking at Rick as he instead addressed the woman, "Andrea, come on. Don't be like that. Put the gun down."

"We're dead because of this son of a bitch! Don't you get that? We heard you! Firing rounds all over the streets. What were you thinking?"

"I-I wasn't," Rick grunted, his hands held up. He looked back at the hand holding the gun. The safety was on. No bullets would be pressed into his brain at the moment. Even still, he didn't want her to notice that. He kept talking. "I'm j-just trying to get back to my family!"

"Here's another one!" another female voice cried. Rick chanced a glance toward the elevator. Clarke had made it to the top. She yelped as Andrea turned the gun to her instead. Clarke raised her hands up in defense.

"Wait, wait! I don't have a weapon!" Clarke yelled.

"Andrea, _enough! _That's just a kid," the first man said.

Andrea hesitated, her hand shaking. Then she finally put the gun away, running a hand through her hair. Rick finally got a good look at her. She was around his age with a long face and beautiful blue eyes. Her hair was a bright blonde, wearing a blue button up and brown cargo pants.

"We're dead...all of us. Thanks to you," she whimpered, pressing herself against the opposite wall.

"Man, I'm sorry. She can be a little trigger happy," another man called. This man was dark with a white t-shirt and black shorts. He was big like the other, but he had a bit more muscle on him in comparison. "But...you gotta understand. Welcomin' all you guys...this ain't gonna go down well."

"I promise you, we mean no harm."

"How many more are down there?" the other woman asked. She was dark as well with black hair and a black button up over grey slacks. She looked like she just came from a business meeting. The good news is the kids won't stand out as bad.

"Eight."

"_Eight?_"

"They won't hurt anyone, I promise," Clarke declared, breathless from the climb. "We...we just wanted to get out-"

"We came from King County," Rick interrupted, catching the look from Glenn. He had forgotten to tell the teenagers that they couldn't let these people know where they came from. "I just woke up a few days ago from a coma. Been trying to find my family and Clarke mentioned the CDC is a possibility. We all came here together. We haven't hurt anyone."

"A coma? You serious?" the second man asked, looking suspicious.

Rick nodded, patting his front. "Gunshot wound."

"Well, I'm sure the CDC would love to help you with a platter of cookies and movies to watch," the second woman sneered.

"What?"

"The CDC is a no-go, man. All of Atlanta is," the first man stated. He peered over the elevator shaft to see who was coming up. "We just came from our camp for some supplies. Would've left a lot sooner had you not shot up the road, drawing all of the geeks in. We're trapped here."

Rick shuddered, leaning back into one of the filing cabinets as he averted complete eye contact out of shock. The CDC was gone? It couldn't be. He didn't want to believe it. He trusted Morgan and Duane. They knew what they were talking about. Just because Atlanta was overrun didn't mean the CDC was, too. But this just put his entire plan to find Lori and Carl back tenfold.

Clarke put a hand on his shoulder.

"That doesn't mean anything," she whispered comfortingly.

Finn suddenly appeared on the landing. He was out of breath as Clarke had been, bending over and clutching his stomach. The three strangers backed away instantly. For a moment Rick was worried it was because they realized he was a criminal, but then he figured it was probably because he smelled so terribly.

"Are you sure the stairs were a no go?" he asked, looking up at Glenn, who laughed.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

The atmosphere was immediately interrupted by several gunshots that took them all by surprise.

"What the hell was that?" Finn asked.

"Oh, man, was that Dixon?" Andrea cried.

"Shit!" the first man cursed, dashing to the left where the only door sat. He disappeared along with the others, including Glenn.

"Go! See what's going on. I'll wait with the others," Clarke assured, pushing Rick in the direction of the door.

Nodding, he yanked it open and ran up the fire escape available, wondering exactly who decided to begin shooting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Clarke Griffin's Point of View**

* * *

Her arms were sore, and she was already sweating through the new blouse she had stolen from the rack of clothes. But this was all necessary. Clarke didn't know if she liked these people. She barely got a glance of them before they pointed a gun to her head. Then again, she did the same thing to Rick. In a world like this, it's easy to be a little suspicious of all you come across. When Rick left with the others, she turned back to the rope and looked down below. Wells was climbing up.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

Clarke glanced at him, before she shrugged. "These people don't trust us. They're pissed about Rick firing the gun in the streets, drawing all the walkers in, but they don't seem to know that he also happened to crash a bus that had us inside it. I don't think they know where we came from. Rick saved me from accidentally admitting it."

"What, so we can't say where we're from?"

"Not unless we want to be kicked out and left for dead. I'm not exactly liking our odds, especially since these people said the CDC was out of the question," Clarke replied, stepping back as Wells made it to the top. He placed his foot on the landing, but he stumbled and fell backward. Clarke let out a small shriek, covering her mouth while Finn lunged forward and grabbed Wells by the front of his shirt, yanking him inside so he wouldn't fall to his death.

"You okay, man?" Finn asked, patting him on the back.

Wells nodded. "Just...just missed my step is all. Where's Rick and Glenn?"

"On the roof, I'm assuming. Glenn's people mentioned something about someone named Dixon after we heard gunshots. I told Rick to head out while I wait for you guys." Clarke stated, her tone slightly bitter as she turned back to the rope. Wells knew better than to further the conversation. Her hatred for him was still standing strong, and Clarke had no intention of making it better with this new beginning. She didn't owe him a thing.

"Here comes Octavia," Finn interrupted the awkward silence. "Clarke, why don't you and Wells go ahead and tail Rick? I've got it covered from here."

Clarke hesitated.

"It'll be fine, princess. If they want to see they can trust us, we can't be avoiding them until we absolutely have to talk to them."

"I...fine," Clarke turned toward the door the others left from and marched toward it. She didn't even acknowledge Wells as she yanked open the door and stepped out into the long hallway on the outside. "How do we..."

"You said they might be on the roof?" Wells interrupted, staring straight ahead. "We need to find some kind of emergency exit. We came down the staircase to get to the department door, so it has to be around here somewhere." Clarke ignored him, biting her cheek in order to avoid any harsh words. Now was not the time to pick fights. Now was the time to appeal to this new group the way they somehow did with Glenn. They needed a place to stay, and if these people have survived this long, they were the delinquents' best bet. She decided to follow Wells reluctantly, hastily checking over her shoulder toward the storage room they left. She hoped the others would get up okay.

"Here we go," Wells mumbled, slightly dashing ahead to the last door on the right. Unlike the others, this door had a crash bar to push. The torn up sticker on the front had a small cartoon of a person obviously escaping the hallway from what looks to be a fire, which further deems this door an emergency exit. Wells pushed and held the door open for Clarke and began ascending upwards toward the roof. Clarke wondered if she should take it as an ominous sign that the gunshots had suddenly stopped.

It was an awkward silence, similar to the one she shared with Rick as they were traveling down after he told her he wanted nothing more to do with the delinquents. However, Clarke knew she didn't want to scream or yell at Wells and tell him how much he ruined her life. He didn't deserve to know all of the reasons why she hated him. He knew she knew he told, but he never pressed her for answers. That is, until a moment later when Wells decided the quiet was just too much to bare.

"Clarke?" he began shakily. She didn't spare him a glance, looking down at each of the steps her feet brushed upon. "Clarke..."

No answer. Clarke just continued to climb.

"Look, you can't ignore me forever. We aren't in that bus anymore. This is an entirely new beginning. Look...I get it, alright? I get the glares, the short answers...but you can't honestly hate me forever. Every second counts out here, Clarke. And...well, I think the delinquents should continue to have each other's back if this group doesn't go well. We have to stop this-"

"Wells, enough. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about this right now. I have to focus on this group, Rick, and the others." Clarke snapped, ending the conversation quickly. Wells didn't attempt to reignite it again. But Clarke could feel his eyes on her every couple of steps. "How can you tell me that I won't hate you forever? I trusted you, Wells! I trusted you would listen to what I had to say and not go tell _Daddy _everything. I haven't seen my father for months, Wells, and now I can't even hold hope that he stuck it out in that prison. I couldn't be with my mom when all of this happened because I was in that bus. Why was I in that bus, Wells? Can you tell me that?"

Wells stared at her, his legs moving as they continued their journey.

"Tell me!"

"Because of me, Clarke, you were in that bus because of me!"

"Exactly," Clarke sniffed, wiping at her eyes angrily.

The next bout of silence was far worse than the first. Clarke didn't tell him all she wanted to say, but she said enough. Wells' fists clenched and unclenched rapidly at his sides. His strides grew quicker, almost as if he was trying to get away from Clarke despite them going to the same destination. She shook her head furiously. She was getting distracted, which is exactly what she didn't want to do. Wells was pushed to the back of her mind, instead trying to decide how she should go about better introductions with these people. The blonde woman should be targeted first since she pointed the gun at Clarke. She figured it'd be best to make nice with her before anyone else.

"There's the door," Wells said, breaking her from her train of thought. Sure enough, the staircase was coming to an end a few ways up where another crash bar door stood. Wells sprinted toward it, eager to finally relieve himself from the stairs. Clarke caught up quickly, the two of them pushing the door open and squinting as the sunlight nearly blinded them. What they saw on the roof was not what they were expecting at all.

"Oh, God!" Clarke cried, covering her mouth in utter horror.

The roof had a total of seven people, excluding Clarke and Wells. Rick was on his back, cradling his busted lip as he looked like the wind had been knocked right out of him. The two women Clarke saw in the storage room were keeled over by the edge of the roof where thick lines of concrete lined like fences kept them from falling over the side. The Hispanic man was standing, dancing on his feet as though he had no idea what to do. Glenn was in a position similar to Rick, groaning as he covered his lip, which was seeping blood as well.

A broad man with a leather vest and stained black jeans was pounding his fists repeatedly into the other man's face Clarke also saw in the storage room. He was built as though he took steroids all throughout his juvenile life. Clarke rushed forward, unsure of what she was about to do, but she understood that he was harming this other person and it needed to stop. Glenn and Rick were hurt, too, which plainly told her he had more than one victim.

"STOP!" she shrieked, throwing her arms over his shoulders and attempting to pull him back. He didn't hesitate to send an elbow into her chin, throwing her back aggressively so she fell against Rick.

"CLARKE!" Wells shouted, not hesitating as he ran forward looking furious. He tackled the violent man to the ground, getting a good two punches in before the other flipped him over and sent his elbow once more into Wells' nose. Clarke shuddered as she heard a sickening crack as the man used his fists to drive repeatedly in Wells' face and chest until he was satisfied. Wells coughed and sputtered, grabbing at his front in utter pain.

"That'll teach y'all to step the hell back and learn when you're licked! Now that I got y'all's attention...let's have ourselves a little time-out and discuss who's really in charge, huh?" the man called, turning on the spot before he spat in Wells' and the other man's face. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at the other man. "Show of hands, all y'all! I vote me! Any others that wanna just...throw their slips o' paper in the ring? Who else votes me?"

Clarke gripped her jaw, sitting up and glowering at this man. He didn't seem to notice her or Rick. Instead he stood tall and proud above Wells' and the man's shuddering bodies. She had given her tongue a horrible bite from the blow, filling her mouth with blood. Attempting to take him down was stupid, but nobody else was stepping in! She shivered, trying to get to her feet, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Rick gave her a curt nod, grabbing a forgotten sniper rifle that had been tossed carelessly to the side and got up.

"Anybody else?" this horrible man asked, satisfied by the terrified hands that reached the air, ultimately giving him whatever sick power he desired because they were afraid he'd put a bullet in someone's head for disobedience.

"Yeah," Rick snarled, catching his attention as he turned. Rick moved quickly, sending the bottom of his gun into the man's chin and sending him tumbling painfully to the ground. Taking advantage, Rick tossed away the gun and grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. He grabbed one of the man's wrists, quickly strapping him to a nearby pipe that the roof was nearly overrun with.

"Man, who the hell are you?" the man coughed, sounding weak already.

"Officer Friendly," Rick hissed, grabbing him by his collar and bringing him so their noses nearly touched. "Look here, Merle...things are different now. There are no _niggers _anymore. Not just that, nothing gives some piece of white horse shit like you any right to put your hands on two kids, let alone another man. This world is led by those rotting assholes down there. There is only white meat. And dark meat. We need to stick together, not drive each other apart."

"Screw you," 'Merle' bit back.

"I see you make a habit of missing the point."

"Oh, yeah? Well, screw you twice."

Rick lifted the pistol Merle had been waving around to his head. "Ought to be nice to a man with a gun. Only common sense."

"You wouldn't...you're a cop," Merle smirked.

"All I am anymore is a man looking for his wife and son," Rick hissed, "as well as a good enough man that defends others, including that girl over there you just put your hands on." Eyes shot to Clarke, who was getting to her feet. "I don't take kindly to racist, girl bashing, white trash inbred assholes. Got that?"

Merle eyed Clarke, not looking apologetic, but he didn't say anything against her either. Rick suddenly began patting down Merle's person, looking for something. Clarke was about to ask when Rick suddenly protruded a small vial full of white powder she could only guess what it was. Rick snorted, shaking his head, looking back at Merle and flicking at his nose.

"Got some on your nose, there."

"What are you gonna do? Arrest me?" Merle laughed.

Instead of responding, Rick calmly walked to the edge of the roof and tossed the vial over. Merle began to freak out, hurling slurs and insults at him. Clarke decided to finally ignore him and, instead, run over to Wells, holding his head up. His crooked nose plainly told her that it was broken. His right eye was swelling up.

"Are you okay?"

"F-Fine," Wells spluttered, turning his head to spit a flash of blood onto the ground.

"I need to find a makeshift splint to correct your nose," Clarke sighed, "it's broken. Do not push your head back."

"I thought you were supposed to do that in a situation like this," Wells grunted, trying to distract himself from the pain.

"No, you can accidentally swallow your own blood and choke on it. Lean forward and just let it flow." Clarke instructed, putting her mom's medical influence on her to good use as she seized Wells by his under arms and pulled him so he could lean against the wall of the roof. She, then, turned to the man that had gotten the beating from Merle. He had a few bruises forming on his cheeks while his lip was busted. The two women were consoling him while the other man went to speak with Rick. They looked up as Clarke approached.

"I can help," Clarke stated awkwardly. "I...I know a little bit of first aid thanks to my mom."

The blonde woman hesitated, but the man beckoned Clarke forward.

She checked for any serious injuries, checking his nose as well as his vision to be sure his skull wasn't cracked or anything else that could affect his mind. He looked at Clarke seriously. He seemed, otherwise, okay. He had, thankfully, not sustained a nose break like Wells had. He would just be incredibly sore for the next few days.

"Thank you," he said when Clarke finally told him he was okay. "Not just for checkin' me over. Thank you to your friend over there, too. I know he didn't jump in for me, but...still a kick ass thing to do for someone you don't know, huh?" He winced as he held out a hand. "T-Dog."

Clarke grasped his hand, though she didn't shake it because of how much pain he was enduring. "Clarke Griffin. It's nice to meet you."

He mustered a small smile, before he began to push himself back to mirror the same position as Wells. He sighed once his back came in contact with the wall.

"Hey," the blonde woman took her attention. "I'd like to...thank you, too. Merle's an ass, and he needed to be stopped." She also put out a hand. "Andrea."

The other woman did the same. "Jacqui."

Clarke gave a smile. This was not how she wanted the introductions to go. The circumstances were terrible, but this helped them go a step in the right direction. Hopefully this meant the teens would be taken in. Clarke didn't want to put her hopes up too high, however. Right now she just needed to keep her head straight and, hopefully, not be elbowed in the face again.

"You okay?"

Clarke turned. Rick had made his way toward her.

"I'm fine. Better than Wells and T-Dog, anyway," Clarke sighed, crossing her arms. "Wells' nose is broken. And I'm sure T-Dog's going to be in a lot of pain for the next few days."

Rick nodded, before changing his expression. "What the hell were you thinking? Jumping in on something like that?"

Clarke contained her eyeroll, instead answering with, "Like you said...we need to focus on coming together, not pulling apart. I had to try something."

Just then, the door she and Wells had entered through opened. Finn and the others all spread out, panting from the stairs and the climbing. It took them a moment to understand the situation before Finn was suddenly sprinting toward Clarke and Wells. The others weren't too far behind, all looking extremely confused and concerned.

"What the hell happened?" Finn asked, looking from Wells' bloody figure to Clarke's growing bruise. He reached a hand out to caress it, but Clarke backed away instinctively.

"I'm fine. Wells just has a broken nose. There was a bit of an issue."

"With who?" Octavia demanded.

"Ask the one in handcuffs," Wells grunted.

They all turned to see Merle strapped to the pipe. He was looking up at them with disdain. Finn looked as though he wanted to go kick his head in, but he stayed rooted to Clarke's side and looked to Rick.

"What now? Walkers are gathering around the exit in the department store."

Rick didn't answer. Instead he turned away and pushed his head out as far as it would go over the edge, staring down below with a look of worry. The building was becoming surrounded. This time, it wasn't thanks to him. It was thanks to the asshole who was popping round after round on this roof.

"T-Dog!" the Hispanic man called urgently, pointing to him. "Got a signal yet?"

T-Dog seemed confused just before he realized and took out a radio from his pocket, similar to the one Glenn and Rick were carrying. He tuned it, pressing it to his ear for several moments before he gave him a shake of the head.

"Try it again!"

"Why? There's nothing they can do. Not a damn thing," Andrea sighed irritably, rubbing her temples.

"They?" Clarke asked.

"Our group. We got one outside the city. Not anythin' you're imagining. There is no refugee center. It's just a pipe dream."

Clarke sighed, rubbing her temples.

"If it means anything...I'm Morales," he said, giving her and the others a nod. "And...I guess I should say it's up to us to find a way out of here unscathed."

"How?" Octavia asked. "Every exit is covered in geeks. I'm not really looking forward to being bit today."

"You sure about that, hot ass?" Merle laughed, sounding dizzy as he eyed her up and down. "You got a name, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I'm 'go screw yourself'," Octavia scoffed, disgusted. She turned back to Morales. "Every part of this street is covered in walkers. They just keep coming in, and I don't know what can draw them out or if there would be anything that can. What are we going to do?"

"Well...have you guys considered the sewers?" Monty suggested.

"Oh, shit!" Morales gasped, turning toward Glenn. "Glenn! Check the alley!"

Glenn got to his feet and ran to the side, peering over and shaking his head. "No! They must all be on the streets where the geeks are."

"Maybe not," Jacqui mumbled. "Old building like this built in the twenties...big structures often had drainage tunnels into the sewers in case of flooding. Down in the subbasements."

"How did you know that?" Clarke asked, impressed.

"It was my job! I worked in the city zoning office!"

"Okay, fantastic. How the hell do we get out of said sewers without being overrun by problem letter W?" John asked sarcastically.

"A bridge we'll cross later. Everyone, follow me!" Jacqui ordered, marching toward the door.

T-Dog, Wells, and Merle stayed behind as the rest of them made their way to the staircase to go to the basements like Jacqui had said. Clarke's heart was pounding. She pleaded with whoever was listening that this would go well. She was stuck in a bus for weeks on end. She didn't want the same to happen in this building.


	5. Chapter 5

**Bellamy Blake's Point of View**

* * *

His life was over the day she was taken away. Perhaps what made it all the more worse was that he wasn't even there to prevent it. He wasn't there to save her like he promised he would when she was born. That guilt continued to eat at him, feeling particularly engulfed in it when he laid his head down to sleep. The tears he shed went on in silence. As far as any of the others knew, he was just fine. If they saw his weakness, Bellamy was sure two of them would see it to it in a painful way. A specific two, to be precise. Not that he couldn't take care of himself, but Bellamy didn't trust them to play fair.

The blistering heat splayed his face with sweat droplets as he continued to lug the wheelbarrow full of firewood back to the mingled voices that served as background music to his inner monologue. The wheel needed oiling up. It was squeaking and giving him far more issues than it had last week. He was just grateful he didn't venture too far that the journey would become even more tiresome than it already was before. He could feel the back of his neck becoming drenched from his exhaustion. He was sure he was going to stink up his tent later when he'd lay his head down for slumber. That was the time he least looked forward to.

He was forgetting her face. It has been so long since he's seen her. The Atlanta detention center refused to give him any visitation rights, deeming his baby sister too violent. Bellamy's pleas fell on deaf ears that Octavia Blake couldn't possibly be that person they said she was. But it was their word against his. He was a lowlife police cadet from a single mother with a criminal sheet as long as her partner count that tried her best to raise his kid sister while he attempted at a life he was supposed to live.

It was selfish of him. He got too comfortable. He left too soon. He should've rifled through more pamphlets instead of settling for being an officer because it provided the better cash flow. He should've been home. But, instead, he was laughing it up with a man nicknamed 'Tig' and a man named Jones, unaware his house was being raided and his mother was ultimately arrested just before Octavia assaulted the detaining officer and landed herself in a detention center.

Getting the call was the worst part. It was equal parts embarrassing and devastating all in one. He had to leave the academy before he graduated in order to calm the storm. He had managed to snag a job at a deli mart to keep the bills paid. He saw his mother every week, but soon gas became too costly and he had to stop doing even that. Bellamy was sure he couldn't take anymore hits. Then the world came to an ultimate end.

Bellamy had been in the house, watching the news. The dead were walking, and they were killing anyone on sight. Unable to do much other than pack his things along with a few photos of his mother and sister, Bellamy abandoned his home and took off. For a while he was just a nomad, jumping from group to group until he felt he had overcome his stay. He was completely engulfed with misery at the thought of his family. He told himself they were dead to make it easier. He couldn't go on knowing they were somewhere out there and he couldn't get to them.

He finally got back to camp, the wheelbarrow still making its insistent squeaking, heckling Bellamy's nerves enough that he would snap at anyone that looked at him the wrong way. Not that they deserved it. But Bellamy was always grumpy. He was always unhappy or snappy, to the point it just forced everyone to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary. Usually, they'd just shut out someone that's so intolerable, but Bellamy made himself useful enough that they couldn't lose him.

"Bellamy!"

He looked up automatically, stopping his pushing of the wheelbarrow.

"What's up, Shane?" he asked, moving along again once he realized it wasn't an emergency. He had to get to the fire pits. Shane Walsh, someone he considered to be his savior.

Bellamy was at his worst after so many groups. He was practically ready to throw himself off the rooftop of the nearest skyscraper. It would be easier. He could see Octavia and his mother again that way. But, for some odd reason, he didn't. He kept going, sluggishly in a way, until he was nearly overrun by a pack of walkers that, unbeknownst to him, were in the alley way he was turning down into. He had nothing but his trusty knife with him, so he knew it was the end.

Several gunshots later, Bellamy stood in front of the herd, all now crumpled at his feet. His hero had come in the image of Shane Walsh, a man from King County rather than Atlanta. Taking pity on him, he took him in. And since then, Bellamy's been both his friend and in his debt. Although Shane tried to tell him constantly that he owed him nothing.

This group was a little bigger than the other ones that Bellamy tagged along to. He actually liked it well enough, but he still remained stoic and stand-offish. He didn't want to get close to anyone. He almost felt like it was an insult to his family's memory, as weird as that sounds. He didn't want to be happy again, laughing with someone and pretending the world isn't shit. He didn't deserve it. But Shane was different. The man took care of Bellamy like a son. They were as close as Bellamy allowed them to be.

"You think you could warn me next time you decide to go off on your own?" Shane asked as he got closer. He seemed as sweaty as Bellamy felt, wearing his usual silver _22 _necklace. "I was lookin' for you all over camp."

"What for?" Bellamy grunted, emptying the wheelbarrow and distributing the firewood evenly among every pit. "Everything seems to be goin' fine."

Shane snorted, rubbing at his nose. "My job is to know where everyone is at all times. That includes you."

"What about Daryl Dixon?"

Daryl Dixon was one of the two Bellamy had been worried about before. He was the one Bellamy remained his strongest around, not giving him or his racist brother any kind of ammo against him. The two of them were redneck, trailer trash that confused Bellamy as to why they were allowed in the group in the first place. Every time he asked Shane, he'd change the subject. Bellamy assumed it was because of their strengths and surviving expertise. Despite his feelings about them, Bellamy understood the two would probably outlive them all in this world. At the moment, he understood Merle Dixon was in Atlanta with other members of the group, scouring for supplies. As for his brother, Daryl was hunting deep in the woods, checking in on the traps he had left days before.

Shane looked disgruntled.

"I don't give a shit about Daryl Dixon. I give a shit about you."

Bellamy fought off a sarcastic laugh. "I'm fine. I'm sorry; I was getting firewood, if the wheelbarrow was any hint. What's going on?"

"Nothing...but I just think we've known each other long enough that you'd grant me the common courtesy."

Bellamy shrugged. "I didn't really think about it, I guess. I'm sorry."

Shane sighed, running a hand down his face. Bellamy chewed on his tongue, absently swinging the wheelbarrow back on forth, the only sound between them now being the squeaking of the wheel. This was also a constant, repetitive thing between the two. Shane always felt like he had to overstep his boundaries to get Bellamy to talk. He kept trying to father him when he didn't need it. He was an adult now. He knew how to feed himself and go to the bathroom, but Shane couldn't see that.

"Look, man...I'm tryin' here...a lot. But you don't wanna work with me. Now, why is that?"

"Why are you pushing it?" Bellamy groaned.

"Because you aren't." Shane said, hands splayed on his hips. He looked around, seeing passersby were beginning to stare. Stifling a sigh, he grabbed Bellamy by his arm and pulled him over to the RV. Dale was on top of it as per usual, his trusty binoculars in his hands as he lounged on the lawn chair. Bellamy liked him well enough; he was a bit of a nosy man, similar to how Shane was acting right now, but he was sweet and considerate. He was particularly protective of the Harrison sisters, Amy and Andrea. Andrea was on the run with Merle Dixon and the others while Amy seemed to be attempting to fish with a rusty bucket.

Andrea was a bitch, but Bellamy appreciated her. She was strong willed and always willing to learn something new that would help save her ass. She didn't really like him, due to the fact she didn't really trust him, but he thought she was a bit of a badass. As for her sister, Bellamy recognize more than once the way she looked at him. If not for Octavia and his mother, Bellamy knows he'd have already gone after it by now. She was very pretty and funny. He found himself chuckling a few times when they were sitting around the fire, Amy going on and on about a story from her time in college or at home. Sometimes she'd tell an embarrassing tale about her sister.

"Lori's worried about you," Shane said finally, catching Bellamy by surprise. "Before you give me the same excuse, she's a mother. She's always going to be lookin' after you, or Amy, or Sophia...it's her way. She's been pushin' me to talk to you. She wishes you'd include yourself a little more instead of just pullin' your weight and goin' to bed."

"And here I thought that's what we're supposed to do," Bellamy laughed, "Shane, I'm grateful, alright? I'm grateful about everything you've done for me. But...I can't."

"Why not? We're not your enemy, man. I'm not. You'd be surprised what you can find with these people. I just...I just want you to try, man. Stop trying to disassociate yourself so much." Shane asked, looking slightly awkward. "It's too lonely to just get through the day by workin' just to sleep, get up, and do it all over again."

"Is that Lori asking or you asking?"

"It's me asking now." Shane said seriously.

Bellamy looked away, back to the wheelbarrow that he wished he was still pushing in the trees looking for spare wood.

"I can try," Bellamy shrugged finally, "I just...I need time, man."

"I can get behind that," Shane smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it slightly. "We're here for you, man."

Bellamy smiled, truthfully for once. "Thanks, Shane."

Shane nodded, giving him one last smile before dispersing. Bellamy was left to contemplate with his thoughts, slightly frustrated that he even agreed. It hurt too much to get close to anyone. The last memory he had of Octavia was kissing her on the forehead as a goodbye. There was no telling at all what she would do. Bellamy truly wanted to blame his mother, really, but he loved her too much to do so. She's had a rocky history with jobs, boyfriends, and even drugs(she thought she was keeping it a secret from her kids, but Bellamy found the stash). It was inevitable something like this would happen.

But how could he deny something so simple? Shane and Lori wanted him to be more involved, become truly part of the group. After all Shane's done for him, didn't he at least owe him that? It wasn't like this group was hard to get along with. In fact, they were all relatively sane, good people.

Lori Grimes was a widow with a son, Carl. She was fairly pretty with a heart of gold. She often babied Bellamy the same way Shane did, checking in on him constantly to be sure he was coping okay. As for Carl, he seemed to really look up to Bellamy, even if he tried his best to avoid him. Sometimes, when Bellamy would sit on the bank of the lake, Carl would come sit by him and just talk. Bellamy wouldn't respond, but the kid didn't care. He just wanted someone to talk to that wouldn't lecture him in turn like his mother and Shane did.

Andrea and Amy were cool, too. They were polar opposites, but they were a good team. Amy seemed to like the mystery of Bellamy, often making it a point to sit by him at the fire times and wait anxiously to tell her stories so he would laugh. Andrea didn't like him, but he appreciated her.

Dale was a sweet man with good advice. He liked Bellamy well enough, and he often offered books from his RV to read. Bellamy's thumbed through five so far and he still goes back for more like a library. Without a phone, this was his only source for entertainment. Him and Dale exchanged few words, but Dale was never rude or weary of him.

And from there the numbers multiplied. Really, the only people Bellamy truly had a problem with was Daryl and Merle Dixon. Merle loathed Bellamy. He didn't trust him. He often commented on Bellamy's skin color, to the point Bellamy was ready to just sock him in the mouth when Daryl is far enough away.

Daryl wasn't as racist as his brother. But he was just as aggressive. Bellamy figured he could probably take him one on one over his brother.

But Shane hated them all the same, too. He pretty much just kept them around for their muscle. Bellamy was thankful that they weren't around today. He didn't think he could take it.

Since he was done with his chores for the day, he decided to take some alone time in his tent. He had managed to snag this from a department store before Shane discovered him. It was enough to fit four people comfortably, so it was more than enough for Bellamy. He crawled into it, his sore muscles aching. His bedspread was thrown about while his clothes were neatly folded off to the side, courtesy of Carol Peletier, the sweet woman who smiled at him every time she saw him. Above that he had several pictures pinned.

Bellamy's mouth tightened as he approached them, taking off the one on the top left. He peered at it, his hand slightly crinkling the corner from his tight grip.

Octavia's smiling face looked back at him. She was pulling at a sleeping Bellamy's hair as she grinned mischievously at the camera. Bellamy smiled. God, he missed her.

He looked up back toward the camp, watching as everyone went about their day calmly and collectively.

He just hoped she wouldn't hate him wherever she was if he just let himself be happy for a little bit.


End file.
